


Dancing on Graves

by DCMS



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Gen, Whump, angstyish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMS/pseuds/DCMS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an argument with Rosalind, Robert goes out looking for trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing on Graves

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to missabsolutecely, and elizabeets for beta-ing this for me. This started off serious then got goofy in the middle because it was 5 am and then the end happened. Lemme know what you think. OuO

  
  
They had been fighting arguing over some menial thing whatever it was Robert couldn't remember. He remembered storming out of the Lab taking his rage with him, wrapping it around himself in the chill of Fall in the Columbian air. He found his way to a bar across the city, one of the few still open in the lateness of the hour. By his watch it was nearly 1 am, _Early enough for drinks_ , he thought dismally trying to think of how to apologize to Rosalind, or if he should at all. At the bar there were few other patrons, shallow looking characters showing the signs of a hard day’s work. Robert sighed and ordered a Sazerac. The bartender gave him a look before retrieving two glasses, one chilled one plain. In the plain glass the bartender dropped a sugar cube, muddling it with Bitters and adding rye whiskey, stirring slowly. Robert watched as the man poured absinthe into the cool glass, expertly swirling it heavily around the sides thoroughly coating the glass. "Leave it in" Robert said mumbling as the bartender made to remove the excess absinthe. The bartender gave Robert another look of disproval before combining the mixture into the chilled glass and setting it down in front of him. Robert nodded and leaned heavily over his drink, wishing to be clear headed for a few moments longer. _Why were we fighting? Something about...something..._ he frowned into his drink. The sweet grassy and bitter tastes lingered on his tongue as he drank deeply, the burn of the whiskey trailing down his throat. The other patrons glanced up at him from time to time, taking in his nice suit in this poorer part of town. He was definitely in the wrong neighborhood. Finishing his drink he absentmindedly swirled what was left of the dissolved sugar, deep in his thoughts he fumed. He didn't even notice as two of the burlier men took seats next to him, looking him over.  
  
  
"Hey pal," said one, but Robert didn't stir. The one who spoke gave his collogue on Roberts other side a look of annoyance, "Hey I'm talkin' to you." he said jabbing Roberts arm with a large finger. Roberts head snapped up coming out of his trance, "Hmmm…what?" he asked curtly looking displeased.  
  
The man ground his teeth; this rich guy thought he could just walk in here? A working man’s bar and nothing would come of it? "You got any money?" he asked edging closer to Robert, his partner did the same on his other side. Can a man not have a drink anymore? He thought angrily to himself. Robert pulled a face, knitting his brows together and frowning deeply, "For my drink yes, but none for you"  
  
"That’s just what you think" the burly man said taking a grip on Roberts shoulder, "Just hand over what you have and anything else of value and we won't have to rough you up."  
  
Robert sighed, "Please do take your hand off me," he said looking back down at his empty glass. He felt the tension build in the man’s strong forearm as he took a firmer hold winding up for a punch, he quickly ducked, his reflexes not yet slowed from his drink. The meaty fist sailed over his head and connected with nothing but clear air. Robert stood up sharply glass in hand as the fist recoiled. This should be fun he thought madly as he brought the glass up to the other brutes face, the thin glass shattering in his hand cutting deeply into dirty grey skin. With a cry of pain the sidekick backed off clutching at his bleeding face. A grunt of rage came from his right as the Talkative one lunged for Robert with both hands. Robert kicked him in the stomach as he twisted and fell backwards off his stool avoiding the man’s reaching grasp.  
  
The drop from the stool to the floor left Robert briefly stunned, giving the bleeding man time to pick up a chair and throw it on Robert shout of rage. The chair splintered and broke upon impact splitting his lip and creating a few tears in his jacket and adding stinging scratches to his face. Robert rolled onto his hands causing some of the glass he had stuck in his hand to embed itself there, with a growl he pushed himself up and grabbed a bottle of beer from the table. The seated patron roughly pushed away from the table looking afraid as Robert took an angry swig of the drink before throwing the bottle at the hellion that was thus far not embedded with glass. Curling his hands into fists Robert punched Glass Face, aiming for important organs while attempting to block his wild punches. Some caught Robert in the stomach winding him. Smooth Talker rejoined the fight pulling the winded Robert off his friend and onto one of the rough wooden tables around the room. Swift hard punches bore down upon Roberts’s body bruising half a dozen ribs before he was able to wiggle out of his suit jacket. Smooth Talker angrily threw the coat aside, by now the bar had cleared out and presumably the bartender had gone to seek the authorities. Wiping the blood from his dripping nose and lip with his equally bloody fists only served to smear it around. Glass Face and Smooth Talker lunged at Robert at the same time, giving him the opportunity to side step and viciously punch at the back of the closets neck, sending him down hard. Glass Face didn't get up. Newly enraged Smooth Talker threw his punches harder and quicker, making it harder for Robert to block and dodge his assault. Smooth Talker landed more blows as he backed Robert up to the bar. Robert groped behind him for something to attack the larger man with, bottles, glasses anything. He grabbed the first thing his fingertips touched and hurled it at the man’s face. It was the bowl of sugar cubes the bartender had used in Roberts drink. The bowl hit the man square in the face sending sugar cubes flying. This however didn't stop him and only served to provoke him more. Smooth Talker grinned widely having successfully cornered Robert at the bar with nothing in reach. There was a pause as each sized each other up; the absinthe was starting to take effect addling his usually sharp mind. As the large man grabbed for Robert he turned and half leaped over the bar reaching for whiskey bottles. His glass filled fist wrapped itself around a slender necked bottle as the larger man pulled Robert back across the bar. Using the momentum of the pull, Robert swung the bottle at Smooth Talkers temple connecting with a tinkering of glass. As the man staggered back Robert dropped the broken neck of the bottle and knocked the brute’s legs out from under him and proceeded to punch the man in the face until he blacked out. Robert sat heaving in deep breaths as he willed himself to stop punching the man lest he reduce his face to a bloody pulp. He sat back on the man’s chest, surveying the damage. Broken glass and furniture littered the dim bar. What an evening, he thought as he stood up, stumbling slightly. Robert retrieved his suit jacket from the floor brushing splinters and broken glass off of it before shrugging it back on. He checked his pocket watch; a thin crack had wound its way through the glass. _Damn, I shall have to get that repaired._ He mused as he squinted at the dials it was close to 2:30 in the morning.  
  
Stepping over the body’s of his vanquished enemies he leaned over the bar retrieving the first bottle he could find--a nearly full bottle of scotch. After twisting off the top he ruffled though his pockets for his money, counting out 100 dollars worth of Silver Eagles he tossed them on the bar _that should be enough to cover the drinks and the damage..._ On his way out the door Robert scooped up a hand full of the discarded sugar cubes popping one in his mouth and pocketing the rest for later. Robert walked out of the bar into the dark and quiet streets of Columbia. He whistled a tune in between sugar cubes and swigs of scotch as he made his way through towards the Market district. _Why spoil this mood_ he thought as he walked along. Seeing the arch designating the Memorial Gardens, Robert entered, looking around he determined that the graveyard was empty and well...dead. With his half empty bottle and dwindling supply of sugar cubes Robert closed his eyes and danced around the graveyard. He hurt everywhere and he was bleeding from numerous places, hands lip, nose… Regardless of his physical wounds Robert was floating happily on a cloud of liquor, absinthe, and sugar. He hummed out half remembered tunes as he spun, dancing on the graves of dead men and women. After another 3 sugar cubes he decided he had had enough of the company of the dead and that his glass filled hand was starting to itch something awful. Waltzing out of the graveyard he continued home, passing though the market district all of its little shops closed up tight in the early hours of the morning.  
  
Upon the step of the Lab he buttoned his disheveled and bloody coat with the less injured of his two hands. It was still dark out but it must have been early Robert mused taking one last look out at the sky before he slipped inside. What was I so angry about earlier? he thought as he emptied his bottle of scotch before discarding it on the floor. _mmmmmmmmnn Some sort of row with Rosalind..._ his weary mind recalled. He stumbled over a dark pile of books as he clamored upstairs trying to be as quiet as possible lest he wake Rosalind. He noticed that their room was lit with a warm glow, _Is she still up?_ He wondered as a fresh clot of blood rolled its way down his chin originating from his nose. Lying in bed with a half dozen physics books and journals strewn around her was Rosalind nose deep in a thick volume. She indeed was awake. Robert gawked at her from the door frame; his shuffling made her aware of his presence.  
  
"Robert do you have any idea what time it is-" she said sighing and putting the book down taking in his appearance. Robert blinked as she stared.  
  
"What on earth happened to your face?" she said pushing the books off of her allowing her to escape from under the covers.  
  
"Went to a bar-" he lazily retrieved a sugar cube from his pocket and popped it in his mouth "- Got in a fight", Rosalind’s face betrayed her worry as she pulled him into the room more bathing his figure in the full light. Here he was arrived home at last, covered in blood, glass, and wood. "Robert-" she tisked crossing her arms like an angry mother, "you look horrible" He just stood there, swaying lightly on his feet, sucking on the quickly dissolving sugar. Sighing Rosalind guided him to a plush chair, "Sit there, I'll get the medical kit" Robert sat, content with the comforts of the warm room and his warm belly.  
  
"Robert--Robert wake up" Rosalind said lightly slapping his face; he had fallen asleep in the chair in the time it took for her to walk downstairs and retrieve the medical kit. Robert nodded awake; blood had dripped into his mouth in the few minutes she had left him alone making him pull a face at the coppery taste. "Let me remove these-"she peered closer "-what are these splinters?" He didn’t reply but she didn’t need him to, to confirm her suspicions as she picked up a pair of tweezers and started pulling fragments of wood from his face.  
  
"Wood and glass." she commented as she worked, creating a small pile of sharp objects pulled from Roberts tender face on the side table. "This would go a lot faster if your nose would stop bleeding." Robert blinked slowly and went to put his glass encrusted hand up to it. Rosalind pushed it away, "No, that is not helpful" she said sternly, "What did you drink and how much did you have" she needled.  
  
"Hadda Sazerac, n' some scotch" he mumbled trying to keep still as she pulled more wood from his lips.  
  
"Absinthe?" she shook her head, "How much scotch did you have?" she said she said dabbing carefully at the blood that had crusted onto her twins face.  
  
"Only most of a bottle." He said absentmindedly digging the glass further into his hands renewing the blood flow. She looked down at his hands, taking notice of the glass and scratched purple knuckles for the first time, her eyes widening.  
  
"Alright this is more serious that I initially thought we are going to the kitchen." she said quickly pulling him out of the chair and guiding him down the stairs. Entering the kitchen she flipped on the lights making Robert cringe. This lighting caused the blood to stand stark against his pale skin. She sighed looked for some more supplies.

"Hop up onto the counter so I can see those hands."

Robert grimaced, trying to avoid crushing the glass but also being mindful of his ribs. She turned back to him seeing that he had managed to properly seat himself. She inspected his face in the better lighting checking again for splinters and glass, nodding to herself once she determined that there were no more. Rosalind wiped all of the blood from his face, staining one of their white cloths deep red before applying ointment to his lip and some of the deeper cuts. She stepped back and looked at him; How he managed to get so much blood all over himself... she shook her head and picked up one of his large hands, turning the palm face up.  
  
"You had better hope that these larger pieces didn’t cut though any tendons..." she mumbled to herself wincing as she pulled one of the larger shards.  
“That does hurt" Robert said frowning down at her, blood slowly resuming its drip from his nose. Rosalind didn't reply as she finished the work on his hands, applying stitches to the deeper gashes and then bandaging them.  
  
"Remove your coat," she said quietly as she dabbed at the new blood on his face, breaking him from his reprieve. He cocked his head with a silent question, giving her a look. "Well? Off with it, and your vest. Tie and shirt as well." Robert grimaced and slid out his jacket, being mindful of his stitches. She leaned back on the opposite counter top watching as he slowly did as she asked. Jacket, vest and tie were tossed carelessly to the floor, only his shirt remained. _Can’t get these damn buttons to-_ Robert pulled the shirt apart roughly causing the buttons to scatter in all directions. He huffed and returned his gaze to the floor, Rosalind just stared.  
  
Robert's pale skin was covered in deep bruises ranging from dark purple to red and brown. He managed to remove his shirt and looked over his shoulder trying to get a view of his back, it too has mottled with bruises. Looking back to Rosalind he noticed her tears, silent tears. Robert froze holding his breath.  
  
"Why do you hurt me so?" she whispered her voice full of emotion, her eyes never leaving his marred body.  
  
 _What have I done?_ Repeated over and over in his head.  
  
"How could you do this to me?" she asked trying to catch his gaze, but it was fixed on the floor in shame.  
  
"Rosa- I'm-" he stopped, _nothing I can say can fix this..._ Wincing, Robert slid off the counter and stepped towards Rosalind wrapping his discolored arms around her. After a moment she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. _He is usually so calm and kind, but his anger… his anger changes him… mutilates him…_ she thought breathing him in, he smelled of alcohol, sugar and blood.  
  
They stood like that until Rosalind’s tears stopped falling, "Rosalind, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." he said with a haunted look in his eyes.  _I'm sorry for acting like a fool, I'm sorry about my anger, I'm sorry about hurting you like this. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry._  
  
She broke the hug and took hold of his bandaged hand, "Come to bed Robert" she said with a sad smile. Rosalind flicked the switch blanketing the kitchen in darkness leaving the blood and glass behind them as they ascended the stairs.


End file.
